


Pretend

by toowincesttolive



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean in Hell, M/M, Masturbation, Post-Season/Series 03 Finale, Suicidal Thoughts, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 07:21:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3200465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toowincesttolive/pseuds/toowincesttolive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He pictured his hands in his mind. And his hips and his arms. But not his face. He wouldn't let that in his mind. It would kill him. He couldn't see that face and he couldn't think that name. But the hands didn't hurt as much. He had felt those hands and those lips just enough to have them perfectly ingrained in his memory. And right now, he was just drunk enough to think of those touches and careful love he gave him without it hurting him too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretend

 

_"Lights turned low_ _cause I don't want to see this go_ _so can I just pretend, pretend, pretend, again?"_

-Pretend, Bad Suns

 

Sam sat down in the shitty chair in the .5 star motel with his laptop. He balanced himself for a second, unsure if the chair would hold him. When it didn't fall, he turned his attention to his laptop. He ran through recent news articles trying to find a case. If he could research and hunt, then he wouldn't have time to think about _him_.

Sam could pretend everything was mildly okay when he had a specific task to do that had to be done. And a bottle of whiskey he could find. Something with no thinking involved. Because thinking lead to remembering and Sam could not afford to remember _him_. It hurt too much. The wounds were still too fresh. In the back of his mind, Sam wondered if he would ever actually feel better. Or, would they always be this fresh, this open, this painful.

After a good two hours on the laptop, a pop up for a gay porn site covered the news article he was trying to read. Sam clicked it away, but not before he saw the men on the ad.

For a split second, he thought he saw _him_. It wasn't of course. But, the dirty blonde hair and toned muscles made Sam look twice. It wasn't even a good porn site.

Sam pushed his mind from the matter, but his dick didn't seem to listen. It perked up just enough for Sam not to be able to ignore it.

He tried to ignore it once more and pushed the thought from his mind.

He gave in ten minutes later. He ran his hands through his hair and reached a hand down to his jeans. If he could close his eyes and get the touch just right...

He pictured _his_ hands in his mind. And _his_ hips and _his_ arms. But not _his_ face. He wouldn't let that in his mind. It would kill him. He couldn't see _that_ face and he couldn't think _that_ name. But the hands didn't hurt as much. He had felt _those_ hands and _those_ lips just enough to have them perfectly ingrained in his memory. And right now, he was just drunk enough to think of those touches and careful love _he_ gave him without it hurting him too much.

Just hands and lips and he could close his eyes and roll his hips and be back in Texas right after they’d burned down the Hell House, high on adrenaline, barely making it inside without tearing off _his_ clothes. Complete, physical touch. Just the two of them, sweaty and trembling and grinding up against each other because they needed it like oxygen.

Sam couldn’t tell it, but one tear had slipped down the side of his face as he was lying on the bed, alone in the silent, stagnant room.

He bit down on his lip, thinking of the way _he_ used to take his lip between _his_ teeth while they were grinding against each other. _He_ had wrapped _his_ hand around both of their dicks as they both rolled their hips up. Sam could almost just reach up and wrap his hand behind _his_ head and hold him pressed into his body, but he wouldn’t let himself do that. Right now, he was so far into his memory he could almost pretend it was real, and he didn’t want to let it go yet.

Sam could feel his stomach tighten as his orgasm was building. He could almost _almost_ hear _him_ in his ear, whispering, “That’s right. You’re so close. Come for me, Sammy.”

It was too much. He was in way too deep now, but there was no going back

He screamed, “Dean!” as he came. When he opened his eyes, he was completely, absolutely _alone._ Dean was gone. And, all of the walls he had pushed up to keep his brother out of his mind fell down. His face was the only thing in his mind as his sobs started.

"Dean. Dean. De-ee-eean." He couldn't stop.  He sobbed out Dean's name over and over again, wishing for any other life than the one he was living. He couldn’t live without Dean. The world couldn’t go on without Dean. Time couldn’t keep going without Dean Winchester on earth.

Sam screamed and sobbed and thrashed on the bed. He threw the first thing he could find, which happened to be his phone. It hit the wall and fell. It was loud, and someone might have heard, but he couldn’t have stopped if he wanted to. He sucked in a breath as a sob racked his body.

He shoved himself up from the bed, and just barely made it to the toilet before he threw up the contents of his stomach.

When his stomach emptied itself, and he quit dry heaving, Sam dragged himself back to the bed where a heavy weight settled itself on his chest so that he could barely breathe. He couldn't handle this. Dean can't be dead. He can't be in hell.

Not because Sam got himself killed. That thought brought on another wave of guilt and sorrow.

He would have killed himself right then if he hadn't been paralyzed by the memory of Dean's soft green eyes and the way the light left them when the hell hounds tore through his body.  He had been so scared and Sam couldn’t do a damn thing to save him. All he could do was watch it happen. Sam couldn’t imagine living like this. Living with this weight, this guilt, for the rest of his life. He could just barely manage to lie there on the gross, old motel bed, sputtering out Dean's name and aching with sadness until he finally fell asleep.

He woke up the next day aching in every part of his body. He had a hangover to end all hangovers, and Dean’s face still lingered in his mind. He let the waves of grief wash over him. He was almost disappointed that he hadn’t killed himself with alcohol poisoning yet. He thought about finding another crossroad, but no demon would deal with him. Not anymore.

He decided to look for one anyways, if only so Lilith could get satisfaction from his pathetic, desperate ass begging for his brother.

He ended up in the middle of nowhere, sleeping in the backseat of the impala, when Ruby banged on the window, jerking him awake.


End file.
